


A Lot More Lost

by impish_nature



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Amnesiac Stan, Feral Ford AU, Gen, PTSD, Weirdmaggedon side effects
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-10
Updated: 2016-03-10
Packaged: 2018-05-26 00:01:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6215518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impish_nature/pseuds/impish_nature
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Feral Ford AU (Courtesy of pinesinthewoods)</p><p>Weirdmageddon is over and Ford and Stan have to deal with the repercussions that the amnesia is causing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Lot More Lost

**Author's Note:**

> Anon question on tumblr sparked me writing again in this au 8D Don't need to read the other one-shots for this one though other than maybe for a quick rundown of the AU

“Oh, for the love of- where is it?”

Stan grit his teeth, a jolt of latent irritation bubbling up as he grabbed the 4th consecutive cupboard in the kitchen and still had yet to find the coffee he was desperately needing at that moment. This was meant to be _his home_ from what he had been told and shown, from the small amount of pictures dotting around the place to the clothes that fitted him in the upstairs bedroom. And yet nothing seemed to be where he would logically put things. Everything was out of order, out of sync.

_Just like your head._

Stan growled at the thought, his glower deepening as he slammed the cupboard and went to another. He cast his eyes up to the ceiling, glaring at the wood there for a moment as if that would aid him in his plight. “Come on, house, just give me some caffeine before we go down that trail of disappointment.”

“Shack.”

Stan paused, hand resting on the handle as he turned to his housemate, ‘Ford’ if he remembered correctly, his frown momentarily vanishing with the interruption. “Hmm?” The other man stood there, a sheepish look on his face as if he hadn’t meant to say anything at all so Stan smiled gently, trying to coax more out of him. It was hard on any day to have a long conversation with the other, but he found that he quite liked it when he managed to get the man zoning into a discussion. When he could get him rambling on about things that he couldn’t quite follow but the gleam in his eyes showed that he was passionate and glad for the willing audience. It wouldn’t last long, a small lull of silence setting the other back on edge, as if he hadn’t realised he’d let himself slide into the comfortable atmosphere and then he’d be off again, vanishing into the basement or to check the ‘perimeter’ as he called it.

Stan wasn’t sure what had happened to cause this behaviour or his own failing memory. But he had decided not to question it, that it must have been quite the ordeal because no one else seemed to think the other man’s actions were weird at all like he did. It was just a house, and they were just two old men, nothing special as far as he could tell. The house didn’t need perimeter checks every hour of the day, or all the extra security measures the other seemed to add on an almost daily basis as if they could be attacked at any moment. And so far nothing had happened that could warrant this kind of security in Stan’s eyes. They had a lot of visitors, yes; normally people coming to check on him and see if he remembered anything but that was it. No attackers, no assailants jumping out of the woodwork or through the windows. The only thing of note that had happened in the small span of time that he could remember was when someone had managed to jolt a piece of his memory back into place that had quickly faded into the ether again. A flash of yellow, a cackle of laughter, the only remnants remaining that still made him shudder for some reason.

That had been weird and disconcerting.

It also seemed to have sparked a further intensity to Ford’s actions, however. He had taken it as an attack, and now no one was allowed in the house until they had been thoroughly interrogated first. Until they had passed some kind of eye test that Stan didn’t really understand at all but again, everyone else accepted it so he let it slide. And really, as much as it confused him, as much as he didn’t get why he deserved the treatment, it was quite nice to know that someone was focused so much on protecting and looking after him.

But it really was tiring not knowing what the hell was going on most of the time.

“You call it the ‘Shack’, not ‘house’.” The words came out in a nervous bubble of energy, a quick torrent as if he was worried how Stan would react. As if he already felt guilty for pointing out another thing Stan had forgotten.

And he was right, the words distracting Stan from his own slipping thoughts and snapping him back the present. His small smile vanished back into a scowl, the itch of annoyance bubbling up under his skin again. It wasn’t Ford’s fault, he wasn’t upset at him. It was his own mind that he found so difficult to reason with. The lack of memory to guide him set him on edge quicker than anything else ever could, an anger flaring up in response to overwhelm the severe black bouts of incompetence that were dredged up more often than not these days.

“Oh.” He turned away from the other, going back to the cupboard as he let the word roll around in his head. _Shack, huh?_ He nodded to himself, mulling it over and over in different scenarios and found that as irritated as he was, he quite liked the correction. It suited the old place more. It suited his head more, placating the tirade of his mind even without the coffee he was so hungrily searching for to take away the added fog of sleep from his already forgetful mind. There had been something off about his thoughts, every so often something would just tell him that. _Something’s wrong, doesn’t feel right, what is it_? And he could never put a finger on what. Maybe it was things like this, his subconscious remembering old words and actions that he was now no longer familiar with.

_The Shack._

_The Mystery Shack._

_Huh, that has a nice ring to it, wonder if it’s a place I’ve visited before._

Stan hummed thoughtfully before it turned into a muffled curse, still no coffee in sight. He didn’t turn as he felt the other man walk into the room, instead resting his head against the open cupboard door in a tired moment of surrender.

“Uhh, if you’re looking for the coffee, it’s at the front in that one.”

Stan side eyed Ford, refusing to move his head before his eyes followed his hand to the one cupboard he hadn’t tried yet. Perfect. His eyes snapped back to the other man, narrowed and sulky. “You been moving things around in here?” There wasn’t any real heat behind it, but there wasn’t really a teasing note like he felt he should be showing through either. He was just too tired to really drum up any emotion at the moment.

“What? No, I wouldn’t-” Ford put his hands up in defence before pausing, the hands slipping down as he thought. Stan watched with something akin to interest as the man seemed to mull it over, looking around the kitchen slowly as Stan continued to watch him avidly. He’d expected the ‘no’ but he hadn’t expected the man to give it a considered thought.

After all he could blame everyone else all he wanted, it was still his head causing most of the issues.

“I-We didn’t think about that.”

“We?” Stan stood himself up straight, turning properly to face the other, a small frown on his face as he waited for an answer he hadn’t even known would come.

“Well, see- you remember when we first came back here and it was-”

Stan rolled his eyes as Ford gestured around them hopelessly. He crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow. “You mean when it was falling around our ears?”

Ford nodded, tight lipped. “Yes, quite. Well Mabel had some photos of how the place should look and we tried to put everything in its proper place but well, drawers and cupboards don’t exactly get photographed often.” He shrugged, one hand rubbing at the back of his head as his face turned sheepish.

“Oh.” Stan let himself fall back, resting against the worktop as it sunk in. _Fancy that, it’s not us for once._ A small bubble of laughter escaped him, amused and irritated all at once so that it fell from his lips as more of a strangled noise that set Ford rigid with alarm. He gestured with one hand that he was OK, the other tight on the worktop to keep him steady as he chuckled. “Who on earth thought it made logical sense to put the coffee in the cupboard under the sink, then?” He managed to choke out through the laughter, a bubbling relief that for once it wasn’t his head that was frustrating him.

Ford blinked at him a few times before glancing at the offending cupboard and back again. His mouth opened and closed a few times, increasing Stan’s giggles before he gave in and cracked a smile back. “Who knows, everyone in this town is a little…unique.”

“You can say that again.” Stan sobered up, a small smile still present but dimming at the words. He’d met many in town and he would agree that there was something different about each and every one of them but if they classed as ‘unique’ in Ford’s books, he wondered where the pair of them rested on that scale.

“Or it might have been the kids. They can’t reach the high shelves easily.”

“Maybe.” Stan’s expression grew softer, more genuine at the mention of the twins. He still had no idea who they were to him before all this mess but they sure had been nice to him in the time he had known them. Seemed to know exactly how he liked things and got excited at the weirdest of notions. Especially Mabel. He’d made a note to call her ‘Sweetie’ whenever she rang after she’d all but screamed the first time he’d called her that.

“So, would you like to move everything round?”

“Hmm?” Stan tilted his head, still half thinking about the kids. _I hope they get in touch soon._ He found himself wanting to ring them fairly regularly but there was a swirling guilt that always stopped him, the solid heavy disappointment that he couldn’t really remember them. That no matter how much they hid it, it must hurt them that he couldn’t recall their faces.

“Stan?”

A heavy hand on his shoulder made him jump, a concerned face suddenly looming far too close. “What? I’m fine. Sorry, I got distracted.” He shook the arm off, startled more than anything as he went to grab the coffee. A perfect excuse to abate Ford’s curiosity. “I‘ll be fine once I have some caffeine in my system.”

“Stan, were you having a flashback?”

Stan groaned. Whenever he stood in even a slight daze everyone always seemed to get excited that maybe he was remembering them. It hurt him, it hurt them and yet none of them seemed to have figured out by now that he would tell them if that happened. He grit his teeth, turning slightly to hide himself, to defend himself against the other man’s oblivious questions. “No. I’m just tired.”

“Stan-”

“What? Do you want me to lie? Is that it?” Stan spat out, unable to crush the looming hot flames that bloomed thick and bitterly in his chest. He spun back, ignoring the hurt he could see sparking, his own vicious pain at the whole mess reverberating through as his tone turned sarcastic and full of fake awe. “ _Oh wait, yes, I remember you! And the kids! Everything is perfect again! How did I forget all this in the first place_? Is that what you want?” He scoffed, not even noting the shake running through his audience, the tightly clenched fists, the locked jaw as he gestured around them unseeing, his words still poisonous. “Sorry pal, but it’s not happening. I’m a lost cause. Just a worthless old man that’s lost his marbles. And if you’re sticking around in the hopes I suddenly- miraculously find them again then you might as well just leave me and the shack to rot-”

“ _Stop_.”

The word popped the bubble of self-loathing and pity as if he’d punched him in the gut, a hollow feeling spreading as the flames died out. There was a seething hiss about it that he’d never heard before, a soft barely contained growl that knocked the air out of him in an ice cold stream as he finally took in Ford’s expression. He’d seen the man change before, yes, but it had never been aimed at _him_ before. He gulped, the empty void filling with shame and a small tendril of fear at the unrelenting stare the other man gaze him, mouth tight-lipped and white, eyes hawkish and watchful as he waited for him to calm down without another word. He hadn’t meant to have an outburst, the venomous surge coming and going so quickly that he couldn’t really understand where it had come from himself. It wasn’t Ford’s fault that he had been hopeful at his dazed expression. “S-sorry.”

The word seemed to have a similar effect on Ford from Stan’s eyes. It was like the intensity of his gaze broke at the soft utterance, the spark of fear somehow brighter in the tremor of his vocal chords. He wasn’t scared of the other, not really. Maybe a little at the change that had come over him but then again he’d started that, hadn’t he? He had been the first to act out of character and set off this entire situation. And now Ford was looking at him, then down at his hands and back again, and maybe Stan wasn’t doing as well as he hoped at schooling his face into a neutral expression because Ford looked as guilty and lost as he felt by this entire scenario.

He opened his mouth, a small strange noise coming out as he tried to form the right words but Stan beat him to it.

“Sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”

“You’re not worthless.”

Stan blinked, the other man’s words almost overshadowing his as they stuttered out before he’d even finished his sentence. “R-right.” He tried not to raise an eyebrow, tried not to question why that was the part of that outburst that the man had focused in on. “OK.”

There was an awkward hush between them, Stan watching Ford out of his peripheral vision as he shook himself subtly. It almost looked like he was scolding himself to Stan but he couldn’t see why, he’d had every reason to be angry at his outburst. He bit his lip, feeling the anger start to bubble to the surface again. None of it was fair, it wasn’t _his fault_ that he couldn’t remember anything either. And as much as Ford would say otherwise, it did feel pretty worthless to not have a memory to fall back on at any point. Everything was jumbled and nothing was where it should be-

“So…Would you like to move things around?”

“Huh?” Stan blinked, this time snapping right back to the present as Ford spoke, to make sure it was clear that he was present. It helped that there was a trickle of unease at the back of his skull that he’d been speaking aloud or that Ford could read his mind. It really would be nice to be able to put everything where it should be in his mind, get his thoughts back in order.

“The kitchen. Should we move things around?”

 _Oh._ Stan tried not to laugh at the sheepish expression on Ford’s face, realising it was what he must have asked earlier. Unfortunately, with his spiralling thoughts, all it did was make him resentful again. “If only it was that simple.”

“Pardon?”

Stan winced. He hadn’t meant to say that. “Sorry, nothing. I’m not- I’m not making sense today.”

Ford frowned, stepping forward again. “You don’t need to apologise. I just want to help, Stan. What can I do?”

“Tell me something.” The words burst out without any effort and they both stood blinking in surprise at them. Stan hadn’t consciously thought about it but now that the words hung there he knew it was what he needed today. He nodded, his gaze growing determined. “Like the kids did. I know it didn’t work all that well but it was nice to hear about our adventures. We obviously knew each other before all this-” He paused for a second as the other looked pained before driving ever forward. “I’d like to know-I’d like you to tell me something, anything…” His face dropped, the words petering to nothingness as Ford shook his head sadly.

“We’ve been through this before Stan. I don’t want to-”

“Yeah, yeah, you don’t want to edit my memories or something or other, yada, yada.” Stan sighed, his eyes downcast as he shrugged. “I think I’d like to remember something though even if it was from someone else’s point of view. And surely I’d know that something was up with the perspective if it did make some of the old brain cells flair up?”

“I’m not risking it, Stan. I’m sorry.”

“Right.”

Ford’s voice was hesitant when Stan just stood looking dejected and disappointed, still partially hoping he’d change his mind. “So, should we move the cupboards around?”

Stan shrugged, dropping the coffee jar back on the worktop. He didn’t want the caffeine now, if anything he just wanted to go back to sleep. Today was a bad one that he hadn’t even been expecting. “Do what you want. I’m just…I need to lie down, get my head straight.” He could have laughed at his wording if he wasn’t so exhausted all of a sudden as he walked out of the kitchen without a backwards glance. He didn’t know what to make of it when the other didn’t utter a word or try to stop him but he carried on moving regardless, making a beeline out of the room and towards the stairs.

 It was only when something caught his eye that he paused, his eyes locked on something that even he knew was very out of place.

The vending machine door to the basement was open.

He glanced back over his shoulder, listening intently but there was no movement coming from the other room. A small mischievous grin overtook the exhaustion, pushing the surrender to the far recesses of his skull. His eyes were alight with a sudden driving force that made him slip down the stairs behind the vending machine without hesitation. The whispering thoughts that maybe, just maybe, Ford was hiding something from him down there that might jolt his memories. He never let him down there, he was always so careful to keep the door closed and Stan had found himself hitting it on more than one attempt to get passed the access code that he was sure he should know.

_Just a peek. What is he hiding? I just want to remember something._

Stan shuddered slightly at the creaking elevator that he found at the bottom of the steps, unease sending shivers up his spine. This place was definitely familiar, but there was something entirely wrong about it all that left a horrible taste in his mouth as he took the plunge and stepped inside. He clicked the first button his finger found, not really processing what he was doing through the thick cloying fog that spoke of times before he had done this but far out of his grasping thoughts reach.

He jolted back when the elevator came to a jarring stop and opened before him. He let out a long breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding as he walked forward.

“What?” Stan frowned, the small sense of familiarity vanishing and leaving him utterly perplexed. He was so sure he’d been right at the edge of remembering. That the trip down into the bowels of the house had been something deeply engrained into him and yet the room he found himself in had none of that same edge to it, like he’d never found this place before in all the supposed years he’d lived here. He didn’t know what the feeling was but he knew to take note of it. As much as he had no recollection of the house, he had on more than one occasion comforted himself by closing his eyes and walking, his feet knowing the way around the house even if his mind still seemed to say it had no idea where they were.

This room held none of that muscle memory.

Stan walked forwards, eyes wide and intrigued. It was funny really how everything changed with that small piece of knowledge. In rooms he knew he should recall, the darkness frustrated him beyond belief and yet here, in the unknown, he couldn’t help his eyes trailing over every new sight, every new sound as he creaked over the forgotten and dusty floorboards. There were items everywhere, stationary and sketches and scribbled out pages dotted the cluttered workspaces along with other things he couldn’t even put a name to as he went deeper into the room.

“What is this? Some kind of study? That nerd needs some natural light down here.” Stan muttered, eyeing up a few of the pages, hopeful that there’d be something written about him, though oddly glad that there wasn’t when it all seemed to be notes on experiments and studies. He’d hate to think the man upstairs was studying his progress for research’s sake. He let his fingers run over the pages on the main desk as he continued to turn around and observe more of the room. His eyebrows furrowed at the dust covers tacked up to the walls and over large objects, finding the action mind boggling. “Now why would you cover things up if you’re still using the room?” He let the papers drop from his hand, trailing over to peek under one of the covers only to be disappointed at the weird blackboard full of sketches that made no sense to him. “Booooring.” He dropped the corner again, his disappointment showing through as he yawned. He’d been so hopeful that something would have sparked a memory, or that it would have at least been an interesting forage into the other secretive man’s business but unfortunately, nothing had really piqued his interest enough to keep him down there any longer.

He stretched, mind already back to focusing on his bed as a glint of colour pulled his attention back. He tilted his head, eyes locking on to something barely peeking out from behind the covers tacked to the wall. A bright shining yellow that drew him towards it though he wasn’t sure why. He hummed thoughtfully, listening again just in case for the other man before shrugging and giving the cover a sharp tug downwards, not even attempting to be subtle this time.

The dust cover fell away, the material fluttering in the breeze he caused and making him cough at the sudden cloud of dust he dragged away with it. He threw an arm up in front of his face to stop it going in his eyes as it settled, coughs still wracking through him. He shook his head, laughing at what he must look like.

The laughter died on his lips as his eyes found what he had uncovered, the piercing ring of silence starting up in his ears as everything around him fell away into darkness, his entire being focused on the tapestry he had unearthed.

And then the cackling started.

 

* * *

 

Ford groaned, a deep sound that reverberated through his very bones as he sat himself at the kitchen table, head in his hands. That had not gone well at all. There was a sharp pain of guilt digging into his chest at his body’s betrayal to his mind. He knew that Stan wouldn’t hurt him, knew that Stan had every right to shout and rage about his predicament and really if he knew the truth he would have aimed all that anger at Ford anyway. _That’s not true._ Ford sighed at the persistent thought. He knew deep down that Stan would never dream of blaming him, even if he did know that he was the cause of his memory loss, that he had taken everything away from him, and yet his body had still reacted to the raised tone, the threatening stance. His brain had locked down, his body moving on survival instincts, waiting for the predator in the room to make the move towards him, tensely coiled and ready to bolt even as his brain tried to fight it and remind him that it was Stan. _Just Stan_. But it wasn’t, not his Stan anyway. The person yelling was a stranger, someone that was no longer as predictable to him as the back of his hand. The harsh way he spoke, the derogatory tone and despondent rage sent him off the edge. _That’s not my twin, it can’t be._ His body had screamed to run, to hide, to get away from the danger in front of him even as the words whistled passed his ears and his mouth ran without him in response to his brother’s internal struggles. _Worthless, don’t you dare say that about my brother. **Stop**. _ He was surprised that the word had even made it passed his lips, his throat tight and unyielding, ready to let out a noise that had served him well when a curious predator had tried its luck with him before.

And then there was silence, and the seconds ticked away and Ford felt like he was staring down a creature that had accidentally stumbled across his camp site unaware of the dangers Ford could pose it.

_“S-sorry.”_

The moment shattered.

Ford blinked and suddenly Stan was standing there again, not just an unknown entity that had spooked him, but _Stan_. The world crashed around his ears, the word a stutter of fear and his brother’s eyes full of a nervous worry that made him nauseous. He was looking at him like he was scared he might attack him, leaving a rotten taste in Ford’s mouth. He never meant to scare him. He’d caused all of this and he’d promised himself he’d look after Stan no matter what happened after everything he had done for them, everything he had sacrificed.

 _Look at what you’ve done_.

His mind seemed to flicker back to life, even as his heart still raced and adrenaline pumped through his veins. He unsuccessfully tried to unlock his jaw, his throat still closed against him. His brain began to process the words again, equating them to Stan instead of the unknown entity that his body had forced into his place, too terrified to put the two together and see the whole image. The words tumbled out as he heard yet another apology sidle out of his brother. _No, it’s not your fault. It’s mine, I should never have let that happen. You deserve so much more from me-_

“You’re not worthless.” That was all that made it passed the tangled webs of self-loathing.

Ford felt his hands tighten in his hair as he sat alone in the silence, cursing himself for not letting all the words fall out. For not being able to add more when his twin let the words bounce off of him, not taking the genuine feeling behind them to heart if his body language was anything to go by. He’d felt eyes on him in that moment, felt himself being judged and it had made his skin crawl so much that his only response had been to quickly change the subject.

And look where that had got him.

“God, I’m terrible at this.” Ford let his forehead sink to the table, thudding it softly against the wood. “How were you so good at this, Stan? You knew exactly what to do and say. When I try, it just makes things worse.” His insides lurched again at his earlier attempts. He’d thought that putting things where Stan would find them easily would have helped him cope but it had made him fixate more on how much he couldn’t remember. And then he’d asked the one thing of him that Ford so desperately wanted to do but also found it impossible to even contemplate.

The light dying from his brother’s eyes at his refusal would haunt him tonight, he knew it would.

He looked so _tired,_ so _done_ with the world.

Done with _him_.

Ford groaned again, rubbing at his face as he sat up. He could hear Stan’s words ringing in his head. ‘ _You might as well leave’_ Ford had never even considered that one of Stan’s growing concerns could be that he would one day up and leave if he didn’t miraculously remember something. If anything, he felt like Stan was more likely to kick him out, done with this ever fluctuating back and forth relationship between them. The need for Stan to remember brushing up with the terror of him doing so and unlocking something neither of them could fight alone. Push, pull, push, pull. With Stan dead in the centre of it all, unable to cope with his own mind, let alone Ford’s. He rubbed at his temples, his mind longingly going back to before the apocalypse had happened. When his brother had been able to help anchor him through his adaptation back to this plain of existence. When it had been easier to find safety and security next to him when the nightmares got too much or his mind refused to let him sleep.

Now he was back to square one. The apocalypse adding to the fire to protect, to defend, to keep everything safe and yet his brother wasn’t there beside him to calm his fraying nerves or walk with him around the perimeter, a nod that he agreed with his precautions but also understood that he wanted to keep him in sight at the same time.

This Stan just regarded him with perplexity for his actions and made it clear that he knew something was wrong with him. A judgemental glaze to his eyes that never made it passed his lips.

This Stan didn’t understand why he sometimes felt the need to just hold him, to reassure himself that he was still there physically on days when he hadn’t heard a word from him that sounded even remotely like the brother he was trying so hard to hold on to. When the hug was marred by soft awkward taps to his back, so nearly familiar but not quite. Almost awkward siblings hugs they’d had of old but much more reminiscent of a stranger confused and claustrophobic by the person hugging them too tightly.

“Hey, Ford? You still up here?”

Ford broke away from his thoughts, standing abruptly at the voice. He shook the lingering doubts away, focusing on the fact that Stan had come back to him. They could solve all of this. He had to stay strong, because Stan couldn’t, not when so much had been taken from him. Sometimes he reminded Ford of when they were kids, his voice hushed and curious but ever so nervous at the same time. The world outside the window so big and overwhelming and he just needed his big brother to tell him that everything was going to be alright.

Even if he didn’t recognise his big brother _as_ his big brother.

“C-coming.” Ford crushed the small pang of hurt that thought caused, wandering through the living room towards the voice. He didn’t notice the tone, his mind focused too much on helping and pushing down his own doubts to absorb the hesitance, the slight hint of something so very wrong. If he had perhaps he would have been more cautious as he turned the corner.

The shock hit him like a punch to the stomach, the wind knocked out of him and making him heave.

Stan stood, staring back at him, his eyes full of bafflement but holding a strange edge to them, like there was so much going on inside his mind that he couldn’t focus on it all himself and was hoping for a hand with the sensation.

If it had been anything else that he held out in his hands to Ford, he probably would have jumped at the chance to help, to talk him through whatever his mind had swimmingly brought up. As it was he stood frozen, ice pumping through his veins as he held a staring contest with the one-eyed beast gazing back at him.

The yellow seemed to spark, a grin with no mouth to show for it, mocking him from the fabric Stan held between his fingers like it might burn him. And then it hit him again, another blow to his psyche that sent every sensible thought process running for the hills.

_Too close, too close. Get away from him Stanley. He can’t- not again, I won’t let him hurt you again._

He blinked, the staring contest lost to the fabric figure.

The moment of darkness, his stinging eyes needing their reprieve, sent him into a further panic even if it was for the smallest of moments.

Bill could do so much in less than a blink of an eye.

He lunged forward without another thought.

A yell fuelled him ever onwards.

 

* * *

 

Stan strangled a scream as it tried to rip passed his lips, a surprised yelp coming out instead. The tapestry he had been holding was viciously ripped out of his hands and he found himself closing his eyes in fear as hands gripped tight around his forearms and bodily yanked him across the room. He had worried that what he was about to do would get him in trouble, that Ford would shout and scream and rage at him for going in the basement without his permission but he hadn’t expected _this_ under any circumstance. There was a small tremor that shuddered through him at the implications; that he was being attacked for his conduct. That he had done something so wrong that the other was going into a violent rage at him. It made him shrink in on himself as the hands held him tightly, a small whimper vibrating in his throat as they shook him softly. _Pathetic, weak, good for nothing._ Why did the words sound so familiar? “I’m sorry, I’m sorry-” He didn’t even hear the words leaving him, nor that he wasn’t holding himself up anymore, the other man the only thing between him and a heap on the floor.

Ford didn’t seem to hear him.

“Stan, did he hurt you? Are you OK?”

Stan froze, the words taking a moment to process through the haze of fear and pain settling over him. He opened his eyes a crack, fearful of the betrayed expression he felt would fit well on the other’s face and instead saw a deep set concern that jarred him into opening his eyes wide. “W-what?” He let his gaze scrutinise the other, the blown pupils, the sharp dark intensity that he had seen earlier but no longer directed at him. Now that he was standing on his own feet again he could feel the hands beginning to run up and down his arms, checking for injuries, checking for damage even as his eyes stayed firmly glued to Stan’s, hoping to spot any changes there that Stan might try to hide.

“Are you OK? Did he hurt you?”

“Did who-” Stan shook his head, realising that whatever had set Ford off wasn’t him, at least not in the way he had been envisioning. “I-I’m fine, Ford. I’m scared but I’m fine.”

The deep growl he got in return for his confession shook him to his core and he found himself being manhandled again, suddenly behind Ford. He was still close enough to touch, a steady connection for them both even as Ford hunched low and wide, a protective shield wrapped around him. He stepped back, forcing Stan to do the same until they were standing on the other side of the room from where they’d started.

“F-Ford? What’s going on?” Stan whispered as his back hit the wall. There was something so terrifying about all of this. Because Ford was _strong_ to him, he kept them safe with all his little quirks and weird little notions, even if he didn’t understand what he was fighting against. And now he was still defending them, still trying to guard but Stan could see how he shook like a leaf, like he’d been gearing himself up for this fight all along but never fully thought he’d ever be able to take on the assailant and win. The notion ratchetted up Stan’s heart beat like nothing else could. Whatever he had done had shaken this man to his core and Stan didn’t know how to rectify it or even if he should. “Ford? What do I do? How do I help?”

“Stay there. Stay behind me.”

 _You’ve done enough._ Stan winced at the thought even as a hand tightened around his own, a sign of reassurance. But he could still feel the tremors snaking through it that its owner couldn’t stop. He knew he should do as he was told, stay back, stay safe but something about the entire situation told him that he needed to do the reverse. Needed to reassure, needed to comfort the other. He took a shaky breath before peeking around Ford, trying to find the source of his distress.

And his eyes fell on the sickly yellow eye that had turned his stomach downstairs.

The tapestry was a crumpled heap where it had been slapped out of his hands but it was still staring blindly at them, something mocking and condescending about the weird triangular symbol.

But it got the cogs in his mind going slowly. He really should have connected the dots as soon as he realised Ford wasn’t angry at him but he’d never imagined that it was the fabric he’d brought up that had caused this explosive reaction. A flood of guilt went through him. He’d only wanted some questions answered, only wanted his mind to finally have some puzzle pieces lodged back together and all he’d done was rip down the other man’s walls instead.

He dropped the hand that was holding his after giving it one more squeeze, gaining a confused small noise from Ford as he tried to question him without turning towards him. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up something that scared you. I’ll get rid of it. You’ll never see it again, promise.”

Stan slipped under the arm still raised protectively at his chest, thoughts only on removing the offending material from his sight and keeping it that way.

“No, don’t, Stan. I can’t- not again.”

Stan flinched as hands wrapped around him, the words choked out, high pitch and breathy as if it was hard for the other to form words. He spun quickly, the distress igniting a fire deep in his chest. _Ford’s not allowed to sound like that._ He took in the glassy panicked eyes, the sharp shallow breaths and small hushed noises of upset and did the only thing that seemed natural in that moment.

He curled up around the other man, his voice warm and quiet, not wanting to spook him further. “Hey. _Hey_ , everything is OK. That things not going to hurt you.”

“Not me. Not the problem. You. He can’t hurt you. Not again.”

Stan frowned, the dots slowly connecting even if he didn’t truly remember. It was like a puzzle, an equation that everyone told him was too difficult to comprehend without further information and yet somehow made perfect sense to him. He couldn’t recall what had happened, had no recollection of the events but he knew things that he really shouldn’t know.

Like knowing that things weren’t where they should be in the shack.

Like knowing that the twins were family even if their faces meant nothing to him.

Like knowing that whatever the tapestry symbolised had caused all that devastation a few weeks ago.

Stan pulled back slightly, felt the hands scrabble for purchase at his back as he did so and gave a small sigh of surrender. “It’s OK, I get it. Step towards you and not the thing over there, right?” He felt a nod against his chest and slipped sideways away from Ford, giving him a small smile as he took further steps back towards the wall, leaning back against it and regarding the scene with a new perspective. He doesn’t say a word as Ford shuffles towards him, only marginally relaxing when he became a barrier between them, his thoughts instead wandering towards the crux of the problem.

How was he going to get Ford to calm down when everything he did seemed to cause the opposite?

 

* * *

 

It felt like the ground had been swept from under him. A storm rushing around inside and outside his head as his eyes stayed locked on the image in front of him. He could hear the laughter, bubbling up out of it, could almost swear he saw it moving and all the old nagging knowledge came slipping through. _All it takes is an image. He can see you. He’s here right now._ And he knew that they’d defeated him, knew that he shouldn’t be scared anymore, that the monster was dead and gone but there had been something nagging at him the entire time since the apocalypse had ended.

Where was the proof that he was really gone?

And suddenly with that thought, all reason went out of the window.

“Are you OK? Did he hurt you?”

“Did who-? I-I’m fine, Ford. I’m scared but I’m fine.”

 _Scared_. Ford felt a growl rip through him without conscious effort, his eyes livid. How _dare_ Bill cause that reaction in him, how dare he. It didn’t even compute that it could be him that had frightened his brother. He didn’t know what to do though, his mind locked between destroying the thing in front of him and barely being able to stomach walking towards it or touching it with his bare hands. The thought of leaving Stan also locked his feet in place even as the sight of the offending material hiked up his pulse with every second it was in front of him. He felt Stan move, heard him mumble reassuringly. “Stay there. Stay behind me.” _Everything will be fine._ His mind supplied even if he couldn’t work the lie passed his lips. He grabbed Stan’s hand, a solid reminder that he was there and that they had won, as well as a contact to make sure if he moved too far Ford would know about it and be able to stop him.

The seconds seemed to stretch, his heavy breathing loud and sharp to his own ears as he waited for the other shoe to drop, for the fight to start that would never come.

And then Stan broke the moment, his hand giving Ford’s a tight squeeze before dropping it entirely. A small whine escaped Ford, unable to turn around and leave the sickening yellow gaze he was concentrating on even as Stan ignored the obvious question he was throwing at him.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up something that scared you. I’ll get rid of it. You’ll never see it again, promise.”

Ford tore his gaze away, unable to keep up the staring contest as Stan moved. His heart jackhammered in his chest as he grabbed out at him, panic blooming white hot in his chest and spreading out across his body. He didn’t even know he was muttering, a small litany of his thoughts falling from his lips. “No, don’t, Stan. I can’t- not again.”

“Hey. _Hey_ , everything is OK. That things not going to hurt you.”

 _No._ Ford felt himself be encased in a tight hug, eyes imploring as he tried to pull away, to get him to look him in the eye as his hands tugged at his back. Small hitches and pained noises escaped him as he tried to get it through to Stan that he wasn’t meant to be looking after him in that moment, Ford was trying to protect him this time, he couldn’t let him take the fall again. All he wanted to do was bundle Stan up, find the safest, darkest space he could find and hide them both away, safe and sound and away from the haunting past. String up ward over ward, defence after defence until the shack was a fortress of solitude and nothing could ever get to them again. But none of it would work, none of it mattered because the damage was in his head. Ford felt his hands tighten again, small tugs on Stan’s arms as his eyes glazed over at the panic-stricken thoughts running through his head. He wanted Stan to have his memories back as much as the next person, if not more so. But if Ford hadn’t destroyed all of his memories in their entirety, could the same be said for Bill? Could he do it again? Could he take everything away from Stan again if it became apparent that Bill was still alive inside him? _No._ No he couldn’t, not again. He could see it now, the memories that they had made since, the small little milestones they had reached in getting to know each other again, Stan getting used to his eccentricity again and- _the kids_. It would kill him to have to face the kids again, to have to introduce them all over again, to show Stan that they were related and watch the twins’ faces fall as they lost him all over again- “Not me. Not the problem. You. He can’t hurt you. Not again.”

Ford let another pained sound escape him as Stan seemed to ignore it all and pull away from him again, his thoughts zoning back into the present as he tried to catch him again and missed, his motions hindered by the tightness in his chest that he was only just starting to notice. Like he hadn’t taken a breath since he’d locked himself in his head again. He cursed inwardly, a litany of vicious words directed at himself. He’d let his guard down, had slipped for a moment and he was failing miserably at looking after his brother.

“It’s OK, I get it. Step towards you and not the thing over there, right?”

Ford blinked at his brother, inhaling deeply at the soft knowing smile and the small hesitant steps beside him. The tightness in his chest lifted ever so slightly at the familiar gesture, the raised hands and experimental steps as he watched for Ford’s reactions. It was so reminiscent of a similar scene, one where his brother had unknowingly stepped over the first barrier he and Mabel had set up to keep them all safe and protected inside the Shack. He tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly as Stan took his silence as a good sign and backed himself up against the wall beside him. It felt like Stan again, a fiery hope sparking up like it did every other time Stan showed even the smallest hint of his aura coming back through. But it was marred with the earlier lancing pain, the fear of having to hurt him again to make sure Bill was well and truly gone.

His face tightened at the thought, shuffling in front of his brother again in small crouched movements as he turned back to the tapestry with a glare. No, he’d think of something. When he wasn’t doing perimeter checks or checking up on Stan, that was all he was focusing on – another way to kill Bill without having to hurt his brother too. A way to win without the sacrifice that he’d made reoccurring. He hadn’t been successful yet, but it was difficult to concentrate when he felt the need to have his brother in sight almost every hour of the day. Had to check he was really there, had to be sure that it hadn’t all been a dream and he was still stuck on the other side of the portal, or some twisted game that Bill was playing in the hopes of getting him to surrender the knowledge he required to leave Gravity Falls. The thrum of electricity shot through his nerves at the thoughts, a full body shudder going through him at the manifested pain the recollection brought forth.

“Hey, Ford, he can’t hurt us again, right?”

Ford froze, his eyes back to Stan, fear dripping down his spine. “W-who?”

Stan frowned back at him, gesturing towards the tapestry. “Whoever that symbol represents. I mean, I’m guessing he had something to do with all the destruction that happened around town a few weeks back. And had something to do with-” He gestured at his head derogatorily making Ford frown in response. The frown deepened as Stan grinned, not giving him chance to speak. “What? I’m not as dumb as I look.”

“You don’t look dumb.” Ford bit out, unable to stop himself but the tension that had started to mount relaxed again. Stan didn’t remember Bill. Even if he wanted him to remember, even if he could make sure that Bill couldn’t return, he’d hate for Stan’s first memory to be of _that_ incident above everything else.

“Well that must make me real smart then if you think I look smart and I think I’m smarter than I look.”

A hysterical chuckle left him as his brother continued to prattle on, a smug smirk on his face at the compliment he had paid himself. Ford took another shaky breath, glancing between him and the item on the floor. He knew that Stan was right, that Bill couldn’t hurt them but he could still feel the tell-tale sparks of lightning, still felt the abject terror as the kids took on the demon he’d never been able to defeat alone. Still felt the pure and utter defeating despair at having to tear his brother apart to finally be victorious. “He did a lot of damage.” The words came out in a whisper, shakes still wracking through him but there was something about Stan joking, making light of the situation that made him feel like he was back before the apocalypse had happened. When Stan knew exactly what to do and what to say to draw him out of the panic attack he’d found himself in.

“Yeah? I’m still not sure how he- you know.”

Ford winced as he gestured at his head again. He couldn’t tell him the truth, but he could omit, could distort other truths into a white lie. He cleared his throat, his voice coming out in a croak. “This will sound crazy…”

“I know what you study for a living, Ford.” Stan deadpanned, an eyebrow raising slowly. “I mean, I might have agreed with that if, you know, this shack hadn’t been swarming with gnomes for as long as I can remember.”

 _Not all that long then._ Ford didn’t voice the thought, knowing it would break the moment in the completely wrong direction. “Yeah, right, of course. He can- _could_ enter the mindscape, enter people’s dreams. Possess people. It’s what led to-” He blinked, realising he couldn’t say the words either, but he didn’t gesture at Stan, not wanting to perpetuate the idea that Stan seemed to have of himself.

Stan snorted at the confession, a sound Ford hadn’t expected at all and made him jump. “Well, he should try and rummage in mine now. He’d never make it out of this maze ever again. I’d like to see him try and escape.” He winked at Ford, like he was sharing a secret joke meant just for them.

Ford blinked, his face awash with emotions that drummed out the incessant warning of Bill behind him. It was just so _Stan_ to joke like that, to find something about himself and turn it into a laughing matter but the irony behind it all swept through him just as quickly. _If only you knew._ His thoughts screamed and laughed all at once, a feverish little bubble of emotion at how twisted everything had become.

“Have you calmed down now?”

Ford shook his head, trying to dispel the weird contradictory mess in his head. He ran a shaky hand through his hair as he glanced over at Stan and saw the raw concern there and realised his response hadn’t been a positive one. “S-Sorry.” He watched Stan’s face soften, his hands placating and warm as they found his shoulders.

“Hey, it’s alright. Looks like this thing-” He gestured his head sideways, making sure Ford continued to lock eyes with him instead of following the movement, hands tight when he tried to move. His face was full of a deep set anger that Ford hadn’t seen since they were kids, when the bullies had been too much and Stan hadn’t been there in time. When he’d watched his brother’s eyes go dark, full of guilt and a bitter rage for revenge. “-did a number on you. Hell, on both of us, but I don’t remember it so I guess I’m the lucky one of the two. But whatever he did do, I’m pretty sure your reaction was well deserved.”

Ford felt himself sag against him, felt the words wash over him. A cooling balm covering the old wounds and scarring them over again. It had had him on edge since the kids left, the deep set fear that this new found person would judge him if he ever had an attack. So he had forced up more walls, slipped himself away as much as possible and it had made it all that much harder to cope with whenever he forced everything below the surface.

He winced, glancing back around at the tapestry. _You overreacted._ It was what happened when the tension was bubbling under his skin every hour of every day, too scared to let it all loose but too paranoid to push away the heightened vigilance indefinitely.

“Ford? Come on. I’m pretty sure I’ve had worse outbursts, you know? I mean look at this morning. I shouted at you because I couldn’t find the damn _coffee_.”

“That’s not fair. You have every right to be frustrated-”

“If I have every right to be frustrated at not remembering things, _you_ have every right to get startled by me bringing up bad memories. It’s not a weakness, Ford.”

Ford sighed, nodding into Stan’s embrace as his arms wrapped around him, tight and warm and reassuring instead of suffocating like he imagined the contact would be with his hackles still raised. It felt protective and safe and he wasn’t sure when the situation had reversed. He was meant to be defending Stan, not the other way around.

“So I was thinking, why do we have that in the ho-Shack anyway?”

Ford froze again, shaking his head against Stan’s shoulder as another tremor went through him, the question opening the floodgates to other memories that were best left buried.

“OK, forget I asked that…are there more of them?”

“M-Might be.”

“Then...” Stan hesitated, just long enough for Ford to worry and pull away, still staying in contact but so that he could gauge Stan’s expression, could see the waver of reservations in Stan’s face that said he wasn’t sure of his idea. “I think this might be stressful and stuff today but I think we should go round and gather them all up.” He tried to grin, the look more of a worried grimace, as if scared of Ford’s reaction. “We can have a bonfire in front of the Shack. Get rid of the last remnants once and for all.”

Ford faltered, his stomach lurching at the thought of having to go round and gather it all up, of flinching as he uncovered more and more items that reminded him of his foolishness, his willingness to trust an entity that had betrayed him so harshly. A hand slipped into his, stopping the thoughts with a snap. He looked back at his brother, the small supportive smile and knew it was for the best, that it was time to bury it all once and for all. No more surprises ripping open the wounds, or at least nothing like this again. He felt the hand in his give a squeeze and he took the courage from the gesture, nodding with him and earning a brighter more genuine smile in return.

It didn’t matter what happened, he had Stan beside him through it all, memories or no memories.

“I think we should start rearranging the Shack as well.” Ford forced the words out, trying for light-hearted and in keeping with recovery. Stan needed to know that this place was his home as much as he needed to get rid of some distasteful reminders. “Put things where they should be so you don’t kill me over coffee again.” He tried not to wince as his mouth ran away with him, hoping that Stan wouldn’t take offence.

Stan grinned, letting the jab bounce off of him. Ford couldn’t help the smile that tweaked up in response. This was the closest he’d seen to the real Stan in all the days they’d spent together.

Maybe Stan was still there, buried deep deep down, after all.

“Well it looks like we’ve got a long day ahead of us. So you better not hide the coffee again. I think I’ll be needing it.”

**Author's Note:**

> AN: I keep telling myself I’ll get on with so much writing and then the fic keep getting super long and I end up only focusing on one when I hope to get through more in a night :c But at least I got this one up, at 9k words, homg what, this is a one-shot brain. 
> 
> Oh well! I hope it was ok ♥


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